


The Nerve

by orphan_account



Series: The Nerve [1]
Category: Bandom, I Don't Know How But They Found Me (Band), Panic! at the Disco, The Brobecks
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Bisexuality, Crimes & Criminals, Homosexuality, M/M, Road Trip, Sexual Content, Smut, bottom!Brendon, brallon, top!Dallon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 15:10:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13079565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dallon Weekes is the type of guy that's leaning towards sociopathy and psychopathy. In this story, viewing from Dallon's perspective, we witness how motifs for the craziest of ideas stem from the tiniest things. Witness the insane journey that he puts himself on that has twists and turns that he didn't know would be there.





	The Nerve

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank my great friend @the-super-real-ross (Tumblr) for the constructive criticism and motivation that helped this fic to become what it is; I'm so appreciative! I hope you all enjoy. - Nicole xx

 

>  

**Bishop, California**

  
The pretty ribbon of insanity unravelled in my mind the second I smothered my hands in that beautiful sugar crush stuff. It opened my pores, seeped into my skin and painted my hands red. Why might they be red? Is it from holding the ribbon too tight, like a tug of war? Is it because the ribbon itself was cut off from just another craft store piece of unnecessary shit, the product labelled #3041 candy apple? Am I simply using a clichéd metaphor?

 

In front of me is two years of preparation in the form of notes. I’m finally eighteen, furthermore the plan can roll into action. As far as my mother and father are concerned, I’m going on a road trip to “clear my mind”. After the past two years of staying back at school to “visit the library” and living rather reclusively in my bedroom, I’ve summoned all the information that I need to commit. It's understandable that they didn't even have second thoughts in agreeing for me to set off for a week - I've got them on their knees to a point they'll admit it themselves. My mother has been puffy eyed and desperate for a long while now; my father, he's kept his distance and allowed me to simply do whatever I please. He thinks he _gets it, you know?_ He says in his head _I get you son. Man to man, I get you._ How naïve of you, father. How naïve. I shake my head and grin.

 

Laying on the bed is the shit I'll be packing, along with those damn glossy pink bottles of hand cream. They look so beautiful, catching the light.

 

I throw my belongings into the duffle bag, however when it comes to the research, I take extra care - it's my baby. I’m only going to burn it, though, when I get to Cali.

 

Everything I’m going to need is in my bag: the hand creams, the changes of clothing, the basic toiletries, the contact lenses, the hair dye, the money. I’m not inheritably rich; I’ve dealt drugs for a while now and I’m fucking good at it. Not that I actually do any of them. 

 

I throw the bag over my shoulder and walk down the stairs.

 

“Hey, I’m going now,” I say in my everyday monotone voice.

 

“Oh, Dallon, do be safe! We’re going to miss you!” My mother’s getting all overwhelmed, trying to cue my father to say something by tapping him on the chest. He’s not stupid, unlike how she can be. He knows it’s not a big deal; it’s just a road trip.

 

“Goodbye, son.” He pats me on the back and gives me a friendly smile.

 

I put the key in the door, turn it and hear it unlock. I step outside and purse my lips to contain all the overwhelming emotions I'm being confronted with in this moment. It's gut-wrenching, but it's _amazing_.

 

I press my thumb to the key to unlock my car. With my free hand, I wave as a final goodbye. What I find the most entertaining is that they think that I’m going to have company. _Good one_ , mom and dad. You _really_ know your son. I'd like to congratulate y'all on that one.

 

When I start up the engine and hear it roar, my stomach mirrors, churning in the best way possible. _Adrenaline_.

 

My foot's on the pedal and my mind's up in the clouds the whole way to Bishop. When I arrive, I place in brown contact lenses and hair gel, which I've never used before. Once I've finished changing up my appearance, I take my bag from the passenger’s seat, put everything excluding one hand cream back in it and close it. I open the door and step out into the air of the first victim city. I smell no fear which is what makes this even funnier. It’s just so hilarious, this whole thing. So, so funny.

 

I smile my way to the back of a factory, walking down desolated alleyways with twists and turns upon the journey you wouldn’t believe, until I slow down, slow down and stop.

 

There's a crate. I step just one tiny bit to peer into the box. It contains bottle after bottle of shower gel. I continue forwards, looking into the boxes until I see the hand moisturisers, lined up, laying flat on their backs facing the sky. They’re all so pristine and glossy, but none of them compare to the beautiful one that I add. On the outside, they all look the same, but I know what’s on the inside of mine and it’s so much better. Don’t judge a _fucking_ book by its _fucking_ cover. Maybe all it takes is to get your hands dirty to realise.

 

That’s it. One-fifth of this… journey… is now complete.

 

I make my way back down the same alleys as before and once I return to the streets, I see a boy my age, looking my way. I make sure we don’t maintain eye contact for too long because I’m not a fool. He could be _anybody_. He could have bad, bad intentions. He could be a nobody, or he could be out to get me. He has nice hair though.

 

I unlock my car, sit down and sigh. I'm well and truly carrying this out. Now I’m back in this confined space, guaranteed alone, it's hitting me. I’m getting a sense of achievement.

 

This is fucking amazing.

 

I need to get myself something to eat, but I think that can wait until the next city, which I should make it to by 8 pm.

 

Seeing as the contact lenses are a way of “disguise” in the event of me somehow being witnessed by several people lurking in the backs of factories, I should probably take them off now. I peel them off. Now it’s just my naked crazy blue eyes. I have to bring the brown back when I get to the next stop, but I don’t want to wear them when I’m alone and have no secrets. The change adds emphasis and I want to keep it that way.

 

I put the keys in, turn up the AC and the volume. I’m on my way to San Diego in the warm Californian wind and there’s nothing you can do about it.

 

 

**San Diego, California**

 

I can’t resist the urge to drop off the hand cream first. I park my car a five-minute walk away from the factory and realise that’s probably not a safe idea. I’ll learn through the journey, I’m sure. It’s just I need to get this done now. I want to feel that rush again. I want to know it’s real and if I’m going to feel like that with every stop.

 

The only story from off the top of my head that I can liken my current reality to is the book _Lullaby_   by  _Chuck Palahniuk._ Although, there are far too many differences to even state that my story is similar. Sure, I'm on a road trip and sure, I've got a list of places I am to stop off at, but that journalist isn't insane. No, and he and that realtor, Mrs Boyle, are giving back to the world by taking. I'm taking from the world by giving back what it gave me. The protagonist in that story ate the paper because it contained evil words and power that had already consumed him. That's not insane. If that's insane, preventing evil, then the whole world is mad and I am not.

 

Oh _god,_ the rush is real. I can feel it shooting in my arms. Another box is in front of me. The little bottle gets innocently dropped in there and I walk away.

 

I keep my head facing the floor until the noise of the city comes back to me and I find myself walking out of the alleys, onto the busier concrete.

 

I look up. Holy _shit._

 

“Those aren’t your eyes,” the boy says and takes a drag of his cigarette. He was waiting for me.

 

Again, I don’t want to meet his eyes, so I look at the top of his head. He definitely has the same hair as the guy from earlier, in Bishop. “What the fuck do you want?” I hiss. His face does look somewhat familiar, like I’ve seen it before, but then there are people who just _have_ that kind of face.

 

His gaze is strong and forces me to meet it. He’s got big chocolate brown eyes to match his big chocolate brown hair and a nose that dips a little low, above plump lips. He’s beautiful and threatening.

 

“I want to talk,” he says, conviction in his words.

 

“Do I even know you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes to try and get on his level.

 

“Let’s talk somewhere else. Are you hungry?” He avoids my question with a question of his own. I can see the manipulation, but can’t avoid it. He must know who I am, at the very least. I nod slowly and cautiously. “Good, come with me.” I follow him.

I reassure myself hat he’s too young to be of any power in a police department, and although he comes across as a strong character, I have a feeling there’s a lot of emotions going on behind it.

 

We reach a chain restaurant and walk inside. He asks for a table for two and we’re given menus. I don’t know why I’m doing this.

 

When the waitress leaves us at our table, I ask him again, “What’s your deal?”

 

“Look,” he begins, “I think you’re hot and I’ve been watching you, seeing you around school. I know you’re up to something.” This fucker sounds almost as crazy as me.

 

“Well, you’re hot too,” I state matter-of-factly. Then there’s a pause. “So, what do you want from me? Do you want a fuck so then you’ll get off my case? I don’t mind if that’s what you want.”

 

He looks up and eye fucks me. I feel my dick start to get hard. So that’s what this dude wants - sex. I’ll give it to him. He looks like a good fuck and if I fuck him well enough and hit the right spot, I’ll have him hushed. I gesture to the men’s toilets and get out of my seat to go to them. 

 

I wait in a cubicle with the door open and he arrives almost exactly thirty seconds after me. Once he’s in there with me, I close it and lock it.

 

We start kissing each other with force and he’s a good fucking kisser. “Let me take it from here,” I whisper as he starts to take off his jeans. “What’s your name?” I ask, so I can boss him about better.

 

“Brendon," he says.

 

“I’m Dallon,” I tell him.

 

“I know.”

 

“God, I’m going to fuck you hard,” I tell him with a bite to his perfect skin on his neck.

 

He whimpers.

 

We both only have our shirts on, now. One of my hands helps me to lean my weight against the wall, trapping him in front of me. With the other hand, I reach down to touch his dick and he sighs an “mm,” then I grab him by the hips, turning him around to face the wall. I press my body against his and grind against him, my dick almost going all the way into his crack. “Dallon, come on,” he whines and I shush him. For that, I make him wait longer. Don’t appreciate my foreplay? You’ll suffer.

 

I grind against him some more and play with his hair until finally, I give in and push a finger up his pretty little ass. I work in more and more with time, and when he seems loose enough for me, I pull them out and align my dick against his entrance. With force, I push in. Brendon exhales and tenses up. I pull back and push right in again. I keep going and with every thrust, I get stronger and deeper and he gets looser and louder. He even co-operates, pushing back into me. I hold back a moan by tilting my head back.

 

“Okay, Brendon,” I say, trying to sound as collected as I can while feeling this good. I pull out completely to torture him while I stroke myself, “I don’t want you to tell anybody about whatever the fuck it is that you know about me, okay? You have to keep hushed, else you do not know what is coming to you. I’m not going to carry on fucking you until you make a promise to me.” Blackmail with blue balls will always work.

 

“Okay, okay. Just get inside me again, God damn it!” He leans on both arms against the wall, pushing his round spread out ass closer to me. That’s no way near enough to convince me.

 

“Tell me that you promise.”

 

He turns his head round to look at me, “I promise.” That’ll have to fucking do.

 

I push my dick back inside and shiver. He winces.

 

It doesn’t take too long to get back to the pace we were at. This time it all seems so intense and hot and the space feels like it’s getting smaller. I feel so damn close to orgasming, so I slow down a little. “Don’t stop, oh my God, please, it’s amazing, _fuck_!” He begs and all my energy comes back multiplied. I hit his prostate so hard with the thrusts and he screams “AHH, ah, ah, oh yeah, oh, yes. God yeah, Dallon. Fucking give it to me!” his moans transform into grunts. I keep going until I can’t take it any longer. I pull out and come, holding my dick.

 

“Fuck.” I breathe out and my eyes roll back.

 

“Hey, I can give you a little something else.” He tells me in a raspy voice and I look at him expectantly, so he gets on his knees and licks the come off my dick. He’s making me want to come some more, holy shit. He holds the base of my shaft and I feel his tongue go over my slit. He’s all hands and saliva which feels so good, but I’m not going to tell him that because I can’t have him use it to his advantage. I’m the dominant one here, making sure he doesn’t go about spilling secrets and spoiling my fun.

 

When I feel that rush, god, that beautiful rush that I know so well, I don’t hesitate to come down his throat. He takes it so well – better than any of the other guys and girls that have sucked my dick. This one girl spat it out, which was pretty fucking bold, considering I prefer men as it is.

 

I was right in thinking he’d be a good fuck, damn. He’s clearly experienced and so clearly homosexual.

 

“Thank you, beautiful.” I kiss the top of his head.

 

And that’s it; deal sealed. He’s not to say a word of whatever it is that he knows.

 

 

**Portland, Idaho**

 

The hotel sheets desperately attempt to cling to my sweaty legs as I peel them off, but fail. I’ve got shit to be doing. Fun shit, of course. The plan for today is to drive to a car park that’s ten minutes away from the industrial state in Portland that has the factory in particular that I’m ripping off. I’ll walk it from there. Once the business is done (the best part), I’ll be driving to my stop off in Colorado. From there, I’ll get some rest, wake up and get going to Texas.

 

I go to clean my teeth and my dick brushes against the sink. The feeling reminds me of last night, in the restroom with that kid. I can’t help but grind into the thought. I remember that I’m supposed to be brushing my teeth, and so I try to stop myself, but it’s no use. I sit myself up on the side and start stroking, thinking of all the times I’ve been inside of people and how God damn fucking amazing it feels. Sex has saved me, oh Lord.

 

I touch and moan and let it all out.

 

When I’m done, I stand up, rinse my hands and return to brushing my teeth.

 

I spit it out and put the toothbrush back in the mini bag and pack everything else apart from today’s clothes.

 

Finally, I get dressed, put my shoes on, grab my bag and head out of the hotel room. As I walk out into the lobby, the woman at the counter greets me with a smile, so I send one back. I’ve got to stay on everyone’s good side, of course. Meanwhile I stab them in the back, of course.

 

Wouldn’t it be grand if the lady I’m giving back my key card ends up the victim of my game? Those beautiful soft hands that touch mine as I give her the money would become scratchy, peeling and bloody. She wouldn’t be red-handed, though, because it’s only the best of us that produce insane, fanatic ideas that stem from such irrelevant things.

 

“Thank you for your stay, Sir Adrian.” She beams. She’s pretty. False, but pretty. Oh, who am I kidding, we’re all false.

 

I walk out into that same Cali wind and, honestly, I could get used to this.

 

I open the car door. I guess I’m not going to let myself get used to it. No, I have three more stops yet.

 

I start up the engine, pull off the handbrake and put my foot on the pedal. The same damn album is on as yesterday, so when I get to the highway, I change it to Oingo Boingo’s “Boingo” album. I refuse to be ashamed of singing along to the album the whole journey. I know the album front to back and, anyway, what else am I supposed to do? Sit in silence? I think not. I’m utilising all opportunities handed to me on this wild ride.

 

Because I know all of the songs so well, it does get slightly boring at times, so I look out at the road ahead of me. The car in front of me is the same shade of navy blue as the sky. The car beside me is pathetically pink and the car behind me is black - a sensible shade. I’m not being a hypocrite either – my car is black. In fact, I remember deciding on it with my father. “Are you sure you don’t want a bit less of a depressing shade, son?” He asked me. I don’t know why my parents have always been so questioning on my mental state. I’m fine. I’m just wild.

 

Oh, there’s something wild, right next to me: a fucking orange car with tiger stripes. From this point, I decide to zone out from the stupid world for the rest of the journey, singing and driving along in autopilot.

 

When the album finishes, I check my Sat Nav and it tells me I’m only two minutes away, so I don’t bother changing it. Oingo Boingo have extremely long songs, so it doesn’t surprise me that the album almost lasts the entirety of the journey.

 

I pull up in one of the many spaces available and tuck a bottle of the good stuff in my boxer shorts. I get out of the car, just as another car pulls up. I walk straight ahead, and all of a sudden, I hear my name being called. Oh my god. No. No. No. Keep walking.

 

“Hey Dallon, I know it’s you!” The voice calls after me, whoever it is, I can tell that they’re running by their voice. I can also tell it’s a guy, but what I can’t decipher is who, furthermore leading me to the crippling fear of the unknown.

 

He’s caught up with me. It’s Brendon. I feel some sort of relief, but that doesn’t subside the anger whirring in me. “Seriously. What the fuck are you doing here? We had a deal, you slut.”

 

“I followed you.” He states it so simply and it pisses me off even more.

 

“Yeah, no shit. Now tell me, what the fuck do you want?”

 

“Tell me what you’re up to.” He commands.

 

“And what good is that going to do for you?” I ask, rhetorically.

 

“I think you’re beautiful.” Woah. Wait, no, Dallon, not woah, you’re angry.

 

“Yeah, well I think you’re fucking hot too, but what’s that to do with shit? Last night was a one-time thing. A deal, if you must.”

 

“You never said I couldn’t see you again.”

 

“I never said you could, either.”

 

“You called me beautiful.”

 

“Yeah, well I also called you a slut a couple minutes ago.”

 

“That doesn’t change how I felt when you said that to me and how I felt when we were fucking and how I felt on all the events leading up to me finally meeting you and not just looking at you from the halls.”

 

“We only met yesterday, you fool. It’s just the type of shit you say when someone sucks your cock. You’ve got to let them know that you appreciate it.”

 

“Look, I can see you must find it hard to let people in, but just give me a chance. We could fall in love.” His voice cracks and my heart nearly breaks for him, but it doesn’t. I can’t let it. He’s not wrong about finding it difficult to let love in.

 

“You’re crazy,” I say.

 

“I’m crazy in love; you’re fucking insane.”

 

“Okay, so here’s your stupid chance you wanted.” I pull the bottle out from my underwear. “You have to come with me to drop this hand cream off in one of the boxes at a factory.”

 

“Is that seriously what you’ve been doing.”

 

“Yes, and now you have to do it with me because I’ve told you.” I smirk.

 

Anxiety can be seen clouding up on his face. Maybe it’d be less obvious to other people, but I’m starting to see through him, despite his strong façade.

 

“Now come along kiddo. We have business to be dealt with.”

 

“You may well be the dominant one, but that does not change the fact that we’re both eighteen.”

 

“Sure.” I sigh. He’s feisty and also lucky that I find it hot.

 

 

**Fort Worth, Texas**

 

I wake up sprawled across the front of the car and hear a soft snore coming from the back.

 

Just like with everything else I touch, I wake up the innocence.

 

“Hmm?” He mumbles all confused and sweet as he comes to his senses.

 

“Hey,” I say quite simply.

 

“Hi.” He smiles. “So where are we going today?”

 

“Texas. I already told you yesterday that this was our stop off on the way.”

 

“Gee, sorry.” He rolls his eyes.

 

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve.” I widen my eyes at him.

 

“I know.” He grins. He’s borderline stepping too far. I turn around and breathe deeply. I have no choice on whether I can fall out with him or not. I’m almost as trapped with him as he is with me. He’s more blinded, though. He wants to be here. Boy, you don’t know what you’re in for.

 

“Are we not going to get changed or have any breakfast?” He asks. I never really think about food. I forgot that some people eat breakfast.

 

“Well, do you want to?” I ask him.

 

“Yeah, that would be nice. There’s no point going on a road trip if you’re going to be uncomfortable.” He points out and I do have to agree. I wasn’t exactly planning on staying in the same clothes.

 

Instead of trying to find accommodation, I decided it would be easier to just stay in the car. Also, if we got a room with a double bed, he might have tried fucking me in my sleep. You never know, especially when you’ve only just met someone and the only reason you did is that they’ve been lowkey stalking you.

 

I open the car door and pick up my trusty old bag that I would be nowhere without. Brendon follows me to the men’s toilets at the service station we’re parked outside. He brought belongings with him too, rather conveniently.

 

When we get there, we go into separate cubicles, get dressed and meet outside again. He’s wearing a white shirt and blue skinny jeans that are nice and tight, flattering to his ass.

 

“Looking good, Mr…” I only know his first name. “Sorry, what’s your last name?”

 

“Urie.” He laughs.

 

“Looking good, Mr. Urie.” I smile and he blushes.

 

“Thanks.” Aw, he’s getting all flushed.

 

“Now, I have a little thing that I need you to do while I do the drop off.” I explain to him as we walk out, back to the car.

 

“And what’s that?” He asks.

 

I wait until we’re both back in the car, him now next to me in the front, before answering “I need you to… burn some things.”

 

“Where the fuck am I supposed to do that?”

 

“In a fire,” I say and start up the engine. I think we should save the conversations to when we’re on the road to fill the silence.

 

“Obviously.” He sighs, restlessly. It’s so funny witnessing how quick and extreme his emotions flow. “How am I supposed to start a fire without getting caught?” he says, and with that, I start driving.

 

 “Go to a park where there’s a free barbecue grill,” I tell him. That was the plan, anyway. Originally, I was going to find somewhere to do it in Cali, you know… light up a barbecue grill, stick the paper in and pretend to cook up some sausages. If anyone was to have the balls to approach my threatening face, when they’d ask why I’m burning so much paper, I’d say something profound to make them uncomfortable. Something like “Love doesn’t always go to plan.” That would have been amusing.

 

The thing is, I got a little bit distracted in Cali. I don’t mind, though. Not anymore. No, Brendon’s my little shit now and he’s really becoming quite beautiful in my eyes. Of course, I’ll still fuck around with him and piss him off, but his presence is quite welcome.

 

“What albums do you have?” He asks. Now that’s something I’ll gladly have a chat about.

 

“Have a look in the glove compartment that’s right in front of you and you’ll see,” I say, so he opens it and starts to flick through the seemingly endless collection of mine. “What genres are you into?” I ask.

 

“I like a lot of music.” He puts an emphasis on the word ‘lot’.

 

“Well tell me some of your favourite artists.”

 

“Frank Sinatra, David Bowie, Queen, Third Eye Blind, The Beatles, Billy Joel, Jellyfish, Radiohead. God, so many more.” He has an impressive taste, I must say. It’s slightly leaning more towards the pop-rock side, but it’s still far better than some of the shit that’s on the radio these days. “My parents have always had this thing since I was little, we used to call it chore day, where we’d just clean up the house and do all the shit that needed doing, but we’d listen to records at the same time and it made it so much better. That’s how I know so much music.” I smile to the road. That’s actually quite cute. “How about you?” He’s now asking me.

 

“Honestly, I just have a lot of free time,” I admit.

 

“I gathered.” I take it he’s referencing to the whole scheme that I’ve now gotten him into.

 

“Can we listen to this?” He shows me the album ‘Spilt Milk’ by Jellyfish and I nod. I only know a couple of songs well, but I enjoy listening to it.

 

The intro to the album is playing now. I focus on listening to it because there’s nothing else to do.

 

The second the song ‘Joining A Fan Club’ starts, Brendon bursts out into song and I’m taken aback. I thought he was just going to fucking hum along or something. God, he’s the definition of a drama queen. I look him in the eyes until he looks back and I burst out laughing.

 

“What?” He asks so innocently.

 

“I wasn’t expecting that, that’s all,” I say trying to suppress a grin.

 

“Oh. Sorry.” He looks down and shrugs his shoulders. I bet if I could see his face right now, he’d be blushing.

 

“You’re a good singer,” I say.

 

“Thanks.” He looks up again. “Can I sing again?”

 

“You’re such an idiot. Yes.” I roll my eyes.

 

He doesn’t hesitate to sing again.

 

He doesn’t hesitate to sing throughout the whole three-quarters of an hour, in fact.

 

The album finishes and he opens up the drive to change it to a new one. I don’t know what he’s putting on now, but I trust his taste, so I’m not going to be too strict on him. Ah, It’s Nirvana. Fine by me.

 

I nod along to the songs and add in little harmonies until I see a sign that reads: “Welcome to Fort Worth, Tarrant County.” From there, I concentrate on the keeping to the road and finding the factory.

 

“I take it we’re almost there.” He says, distracting me. He doesn’t need to talk right now. It’s just unnecessary commentary.

 

“Yes.” I bite my tongue.

 

“Do you know exactly how to get there?” Seriously, it’s unnecessary.

 

“Well, not exactly. That’s why there’s a Sat Nav.” I point out the obvious.

 

“Oh. Yeah. Right.” He turns to face away from me, looking out the window.

 

We sit with just the music and none of our own voices for the rest of the ride.

 

When I park up, Brendon looks at me expectantly. I pull the handbrake and the car stops. I return his gaze, cuing for him to speak up because I don’t know what he’s expecting

me to say.

 

“Um… so what about the whole… fire thing. Are we… separating?”

 

“Ah right. I guess we’ll have to. Do you have a watch?”

 

“Yeah, uh, right on my wrist.” He waves his arm in my face.

 

“Okay.” I avoid his sassy remark, “Meet me back here, right outside this car at 6 pm.” That’s two hours from now, which should be enough time.

 

“Sure.” He says and smiles, which he does a lot of and it really does seem genuine. It’s surprisingly nice and I’m becoming more accepting of it.

 

I open the car door and he does the same with the one on his side. I step into the Northen Texas air and walk round to the boot of the car. Brendon stands beside me as I take out my bag. While handing it over to him, I say “Sorry, but you’re sort of lumbered with this for the day.” I remember that the hand cream bottle for today is still in the bag, so I unzip the bag and take it out while we continue to speak.

 

“It’s okay. Is there anything that I’ll need to buy?”  I take out the pretty pink bottle.

 

“No, I should have matches already in there.” I zip the bag back up and step back.

 

“Okay.” He stops and just looks at me. “Kiss me.” He says. I look at his lips. I guess I wouldn’t mind. “Go on.” He continues.

 

I look around us and decide to just go for it. I step forwards again, hold his head in one of my hands, tilt my own head and take his lips into mine. Suddenly, I don’t want to stop. I want to keep kissing him. Blood is rushing to my cheeks, making me red and hot and I don’t know why. I stop myself and pull away. He smiles and I try to but I can’t.

 

“Bye.” He says all dreamily and I just nod and walk away.

 

I can’t exactly muster up the right way to describe how that felt. God, I don’t know.

 

I shake the thought out of my head and focus on the floor. It’s grey, concrete and boring. Instead, I look up at the world around me. You would have thought that I’m getting a really cultural taste of America with this journey, but, really, I’m just going into the industrial areas. I don’t mind, though, because I couldn’t care less about acting like a fucking tourist.

 

I remember the directions on how to get to every single factory as clear in my head as everyone knows the beat to We Will Rock You, therefore it doesn’t surprise me that I find the factory with no wrong turns.

 

The whole way to the back, I almost tiptoe, I’m that careful. I see those good old crates again and sneer. Walking towards them, I suddenly hear a man whistling. I listen out to see if the whistle is getting any closer and, fuck, it is.

 

I urgently assess my surroundings, trying to find somewhere to hide. I resort to behind the giant metal bin. The lid is up, so my face won’t be able to be seen.

 

Just when I thought I could possibly get away with this, the footsteps can be heard leading towards the fucking bin. He stops and stands still and my heart copies him. He throws whatever tiny scraps he has in and he pulls the fucking lid down, and I have to duck to save my life. If I wasn’t skinny, I’d be screwed because I would have totally knocked the bin.

 

I hear the footsteps fade away. I can’t hear them anymore, so I count to five.

 

One, two, three, four, five.

 

I slide out from between the wall and the bin.

 

I take a deep breath and put the bottle in the right crate.

 

That was a close call.

 

Walking back to the streets of Dallas, I can’t help but think about Brendon. I don’t know why that kiss felt so… different, earlier.

 

I walk past a Chipotle and backtrack. I go through the door and head straight to the checkout because there’s nobody being served at the moment. The girl asks me, what can she get for me? And I order a burrito and a coke.

 

I stand by the collection point with my receipt, just when I hear someone fumbling through the door. Fucking hell, it’s Brendon being a clumsy shit with my bag. He notices me and his eyes light up.

 

“Excuse me, sir. I have your order.” I turn to the worker and take it from them.

 

“Thank you,” I say and turn back to Brendon.

 

“Fancy seeing you here.” He laughs and I do too, good-naturedly.

 

“I guess we won’t have to meet at 6, after all, then?” I ask, hoping that he’s got the job done.

 

“Yeah. I’ve-“ He stops himself before he says shit that he’s not supposed to say. I look at him and grin knowingly. He offers an apologetic smile and I take it.

 

“Go on and order something then, and we can get going.” I gesture to the till.

 

“Okay.” He says and makes his way.

 

I wait for him, standing by a table, and he comes back with a water and three tacos.

 

“Why did you get a water?” I tease as I hold the door open for him.

 

We carry on walking and he says “I can’t have caffeine.”

 

“Why?” I ask.

 

The air is so nice and chilling, brushing through my hair. Right now, I actually think I’m happy. Innocently happy. Happy in a way that I should be. It feels right.

 

“It fucks with my mental health.” He says.

 

“What, so it just makes you depressed, or some shit?”

 

“No, no. It just makes me shaky and too hyper.” Now that he says it, I can see it. He seems really fidgety and talkative as it is. “You don’t know much about mental health, do you?”

 

“Oh well. I know enough.” I dismiss him.

 

We keep walking in the relaxed wind, eating and drinking in a comfortable silence. I finish my burrito and scan the streets for a bin. I can’t see one, so I crumple up the wrapper and stick it in my pocket.

 

Taking a sip of my coke, I casually glance at Brendon who’s looking ahead. His posture is really strong and his walk is effortless but so perfect. I look away before he catches me, although I don’t really want to.

 

I see a car park in the near distance and get out my keys.

 

“Can we stay at a hotel tonight?” He asks.

 

“Why?”

 

“Well, it’s better than sleeping in a car, don’t you think?”

 

“Fair enough.”

 

 

**Tucson, Arizona**

 

We’re in a double bed together. How did I let this happen?

 

I get up and open the curtains to flood some light into the room, which is enough to wake up the man that was lying beside me. “What are you doing?” He mumbles.

 

“What does it look like?” I deadpan.

 

“Will you stop being so god damn impossible?” He whines.

 

“No,” I say.

 

“Come here.” That’s something I won’t object to.

 

I crawl into the bed with him and he steals a kiss from me. I kiss him back the next time and find myself climbing on top of him to straddle him. I lean down to kiss his lips one last time before I pull both of our underwear off.

 

I find myself going straight to push my fingers into him. I do it softly, wriggling them so it feels nice for him and he sighs “So good.” I smile.

 

“Are you ready yet?” I ask, still working my fingers in and out of him.

 

He moans a “Yeah,” so I pull my fingers out of him and his muscles relax a little.

 

His muscles tighten again as I push in.

 

Once my dick’s fully inside of him, I pull back and forward again, still straddling him.

 

I rock back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, getting faster.

 

“Oh yeah,” he says, “oh God yeah, fuck, come on” he screws his eyes shut which brings pleasure to me, seeing his hot, sweaty face filled with pleasure.

 

 I go a little slower than before, now. “You’re beautiful.” I tell him and caress his thigh. He is. I truly feel this way, this time. I mean ‘beautiful’ in a somehow different way.

 

“Dall- Dall- Dallon- I- I love you. I think I love you.”

 

I go to a speed of a whole new level, rocking backwards and forwards faster than ever before. He’s almost screaming now “Dall, Dall, oh my GOD. FUCKING HELL. AHHH.” I don’t stop. I keep going while he comes into my pubes and on my stomach.

 

Unexpectedly, he grabs my arm and holds onto me tight, squeezing and I come right then, still inside of him. My torso lands onto his and I’m lying on top of him. Our chests are smashing into each other’s while we fight to breathe. I decide to fill the space by kissing him, but I don’t know if that’s really the reason I’m kissing him. It’s more of an excuse.

 

I roll off of him and lay focusing on the sound of his breathing slowing down to help mine do the same. Every noise that he makes is just so naturally beautiful sounding. I don’t know how he does it. I don’t know how he’s doing this to me, either. I thought I was untouchable to love, but he’s proving me otherwise and it’s increasingly alarming.

 

“What are you thinking about?” He whispers.

 

I don’t say anything for a while, so I can decide whether I want to tell him.

 

“I’m thinking about you.” I give in.

 

“Oh really,” he turns to lay on his side, facing me, “and what do you think about me?”

 

“I think…” I hesitate.

 

I’ve got nothing to lose. “I think I love you.”

 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I love you too.”

 

“But, how is that so simple for you? You say it so easily.”

 

“It’s not simple. Holy shit, I’ve been in love before and it’s made me cry and shout, but it’s also made me smile and laugh and have amazing sex, so it’s better to just come to terms with it and get to know that feeling.”

 

At first glance, I didn’t think he would be that intellectual. He looked more of a dumb, happy, absent-minded kid who just goes about life smiling and building himself up with confidence through life. Then, I thought about how obsessive he seemed, and I still think he is. But with time, he’s showed me serious emotional intelligence. Maybe he does have his own bullshit that makes him do crazy shit, such as follow the person they’re attracted to through multiple states, but he understands things so well. He’s the type of person that I’m in a dire need of that I didn’t know about.

 

“So, what now?” I ask, looking at the ceiling.

 

“Come and live with me.” I look at him. “We’ll move out of our parents’ houses and live together.”

 

I laugh, “Yeah, and then what are we going to do?”

 

He looks straight through me, “We both absolutely love music, so we can get a job in the music industry. Any job! You and I. Together. Doing what we love.” If he wasn’t looking at me the way he is right now, I would be viewing this as far-fetched, but it’s actually not.

 

I’ll never get bored with him.

 

Instead of dropping off our last bottle in Arizona, we head back to Nevada – the state we were once apart, but are now and forever will be together in.


End file.
